<><><><><><><><><><>
Sound of
Rain
C. Kramer
Hands
against the foggy glass, Ian looks out watching the drips cascade down the bay
window in his apartment. Slowly falling, the rain makes the sandy hair boy
laugh as lightening dances in the surly clouds. He pulls away flapping his
hands and rubs them on his face. A celebration of some sort, one that his lover
never truly understood but empathizes in a way. Ian flapped again bouncing on
his toes, swaying to the rolling roar of the thunder. A May storm always gives
him such delight. A fixation that Mattie let him indulge him in once in a
while; ridged schedules, planning things in advance, and a life of routine left
their lives little room for things like spontaneity. Mattie couldn’t always go
parties he was invited too, he left work early sometimes to deal with
incidents. His life has been route and organized. All to keep Ian at peace in a
sea of noise and faces, if one thing goes out of balance. There was chaos.
And people
do ask: “Why do you even bother?”
The answer
wasn’t simply “because I love him”, though that is part of the answer. For
Matthias Shepard, life was as sea of noises and faces too. There was no
reprieve for him; he went through life feeling though the ocean of emotions and
thoughts constantly drowning in them. Every day, he was drowning and on one
cold January evening, that is when he found an island. Ian Farthing was that
island. A man who spent his life living with siblings, parents and at one point
in a men’s home; never really having a place of belonging. He was a burden to
some, a liability to others, but Mattie saw him differently. Telepathy with a
secondary talent of empathic awareness, are heavy weights to wear. And since
people never shield, he was always privy their intents, to their feelings, to
their secrets. It was maddening for Mattie. Ian being autistic was relief from
that. His mind functions so differently that picking up emotions was foggy and
hard to pin point and telepathy was equally hard. His thoughts were various
word-pictures, sounds, smells. They were in differently complex patterns that
are hard to cipher though. It was perfect peace. He wasn’t open and naked like
the others. He wasn’t a pulsing mass of ethos. Finally Mattie found someone
that he could truly get to know, talk to, and discover.
Ian found
peace with Mattie. Shoved aside by family members who saw him as a non-person;
Ian found himself with little control over his life. It wasn’t until his sister
Jane saw his landscapes, and then people started to care. Not about him, of
course not. Just of what he could produce. Rich and vibrant fields, busy
streets and stormy evenings; the latter is his favorite. Watercolor was his
medium of choice and spent many of his days holed up in his room painting. Only
eating when made to and only leaving the room when he had to piss. Ian spoke to
his sister in the same short clipped voice explaining in great detail what he
trying to say in his paintings. He went on about techniques and new methods,
watercolor vs. gouache and things that Jane couldn’t give a damn about. But he
made money. And greed was strong in her. So against his own needs, she made him
do tours, sell in pricy galleries and showcases, dragging him around like a
dancing poodle. It was that January when Ian was showing his watercolor
paintings in gallery opening, the one that Mattie was at.
Swaying side
to side, Mattie found a shaggy hair main with wide rectangular glasses staring
at a painting of a sunset from a roof top. Mattie was drawn to him, while
trying to escape the environmental noise and the psychic noise too. It was
quiet where Ian was. Surprised, Mattie stood next to him. Pushing back his long
black hair he took a sip of the chardonnay and started a conversation.
“Nice contrast, I like how the
red bleeds like that against the start black.”
“Oh. Thank you. Took me months to get that,” responded
the swaying man.
“You’re the artist? You’re Ian
Farthing?” Mattie raised an eyebrow and turned to Ian with a fascinated look he is so….silent. I can’t pick out any
outward resonance from him. It’s like he turned off or damped his emotions. I
can’t pick them up. Mattie offered his hand to Ian, a smile forming on his
tanned face.
“Matthias Shepard, it is an
honor to meet the talent behind these paintings.” Ian carefully shook his hand.
Mattie’s hand swallowed the clammy artist’s, and he had to actually concentrate
for once to pick up a resonance. He hates
it here, he doesn’t want to be here I get those emotions, but his thoughts
there are, images, some are words…but I can’t translate them right away.
This…this is incredible. He’s a Dampener. Those are hard to find. Shaking
his hand for a moment, Mattie turned back to the painting.
“Does it mean anything?” he
asked, Ian’s response was simple:
“It was just a practice piece
using some new tubes, but I guess people can stick whatever meaning they want
to it.”
“It looks…somber almost. Like
there is a kind of dinginess to it, but seriously; what does it mean to you? “
“It’s isolation. Feeling of
being cut out from society. The roof has nothing on it, it’s bare and void and
sun as its setting casting a glow to it; almost if it’s judging it.”
“Do people judge you Ian?”
Ian looked at Mattie with a hurt
look, “Of course. I am autistic. Of course they judge.” Mattie was going to
probe deeper when a stern blonde woman walked up to them. She ushered Ian way
saying that some folks wanted to buy a piece from him. Mattie looked at the
title of the painting that they were discussing. It was entitled: Scathing Glare.
The months
that followed ebbed and flowed. Mattie spent evenings visiting Ian, at his
studio. Bringing meals to him when he forgot eat. Watching him paint and the
conversations dripped down like steady rain. Mattie explained to him that he
was only child, and grew up rather sheltered. It was only when he hit middle
school things began to change. His psychic powers manifested and nothing was
ever the same after that. Ian seemed interested about it. He has met some
“psychics” in his life. Most of them were just empaths that were good at cold
reading. True telepaths were hard to come by and meeting one for real, was
quite an opportunity. Ian started to feel a strong connection to Mattie after
spending several evenings, and afternoons with him. He started to take more breaks
from paintings and started visiting him at his clinic where he practiced. He
made an effort more to try new things and slowly Mattie watched him come out of
his shell. He was vibrant and exuberant about everything. Paintings of Ian had
richness that Mattie noticed more. Real happiness, and as the months that
followed from carefully nurturing the relationship that they have sowed
together, the happiness flourished.
Getting Ian
off of Jane’s hands however was not simple as Mattie thought. Before Ian moved
in, Jane struggled to keep Ian for herself afraid her little hen will not lay
any golden eggs for her. Yet Ian convinced her that he can give her some of his
money he made from commissions and galleries to her once a month. Deal placated
her, and without that complication, Mattie and Ian can begin their lives
together.
It wasn’t
always perfect. Mattie knew what was he was getting into with having a
relationship with an autistic. The beds have to be always made or Ian will rant
and be surly for hours. If they were late for a gallery show or a meeting or
anything, Ian will panic. Mattie was patient and rational but even his own
patience was tried when they got into spats. Mostly out of miscommunication
than malice. Explaining things over and over was exhausting. Still despite the
rough spots in their relationship. Things sometimes seamlessly flow together.
Ian was tirelessly observant, Mattie often comes home late and dinner would be
prepared for him. Small paintings of flowers and fresh fruit will be in his
briefcase and the simple peace of them just together in the apartment was fact
enough on how much it was worth it. Living with Ian took effort but all good
things take effort.
In Ian’s
case, Mattie was also a challenge. Like autistic symptoms, psychic powers also
have its set of inferences. Ian can tolerate crowds as he was use to them in
the gallery parties. Mattie can only tolerate them for an hour or so, before he
started to break down and hide to escape the constant sea of resonance. Movie
theaters were out of the question. Mattie had a hard time eating out too. Because
even the food has resonance and nothing killed the mood more than trying to eat
a steak with the sound of mooing and the crackle of static from a stun gun(One
of the reasons Mattie often went vegetarian). So it goes without saying that
eating out was once in a while and only if Mattie wards from various resonances
and impressions. When Ian had enough of people and the mask of “normalcy” falls
off; he shuts down, rocking back and forth and hands over his eyes. He will
scream and try to run away. When Mattie gets over loaded, he gets violent. He
made damn sure never to show that side to Ian. Until one afternoon…
It was
another gallery show outside of town at someone’s property. It was warm and
bright and Ian was more involved with the guests than use to be. Shaking hands
and showing them some of his new pieces. Mattie was oddly more worn that day.
Quiet as he followed his lover behind him watching with proud but tired
expression on his face; happy to see him so social for once. He took a beer
from the cooler and walked outside to get a break from the party and drank on
lawn he found himself wandering to an area outside of the man celebration when
felt a wave of psychic energy. He furrowed his brow as he touched a hammer that
lay in the grass next to a tree stump. A sick feeling welled up in Mattie as he
rolled his eyes back seeing an image two men beating the shit out of another
man. Words and slurs were being thrown around muddled with the hazy image.
Mattie choked back his nausea as the boy who was probably gay was beaten by two
men, high school age. Dropping the hammer Mattie staggered back, beer left in grass
by the weapon. He had no idea if the boy lived, or not. He didn’t stick around
to find out. His own mask dropped off as he stormed to the car not noticing
that Ian was behind him. His grey eyes filled with concern.
“Mattie? What is wrong, you
lo-“Mattie whirled around to strike whomever was behind him, but Ian caught his
fist. Grey eyes now filled with deeper concern. “What the fuck happened? What
did you see or pick up?”
“Back off Ian, I just need
space.”
“No you’re going to calm down
first. You’re seething, what happened?” Ian was insistent and didn’t let go of
Mattie. Both of them looked back for a second before getting into the Jetta.
“I picked up something in the
back of the place, some kid got beat to shit.” Mattie admitted rubbing his
face. “We need to go now. We can’t be
here.”
“Do you want to tell the police
or something?” Ian tried to help.
“No I just want to fucking go! I
am tired to death of being here.” Snapped Mattie
“Mattie we can-“ Mattie fell
into the resonance loosing himself to the impressions he found. Everything feel
away from him nothing was stable or real anymore as he found himself looking
into the eyes of the boy that was beaten, Ian didn’t even finished his sentence
when Mattie let out a deluge of words anger flavored them like hot sauce. Ian
couldn’t process them fast enough but without thinking, he grabbed Mattie’s
shoulders and forced him to look at him.
“Stop! Breathe. Now. Push back
the onslaught. I am gonna talk to the host, I am gonna get to the bottom of
this. We will go home, get out of the ocean Mattie you will drown.” Ian solid
words, and own dampening ability stopped the resonance from continuing. Mattie
took a breath and managed to put himself back together.
“Right you do that Ian. I am
going to chill out here for a while ok?” Mattie said wearily as Ian slowly got
out of the car and walked back to the house. Mattie rubbed his face as tried to
hold on his mind. He needed Ian more than Ian realized.
Bringing
himself out of that memory he watched Ian rocked to the sound of rain and heavy
thunder. Mattie got up from his seat in the living room and put down his
laptop. Coffee in one hand and idea in his head he got Ian’s attention.
“Hey, Ian c’mere.” He said as he
put his coffee down. Ian laughed and joined him in his favorite chair looking
outside the window, still engaged to the conversation.
“Something on your mind?”
“Yeah Ian” there was a pause,
“what do you think about the phrase ‘high functioning’?”
“It makes no sense honestly, but
in what context?”
“What about in the autistic
sense?” asked Ian sipping his coffee letting the mellow flavor relax him as Ian
took his time thinking.
“I still think it makes no
sense. I am only considered high functioning because I can talk, but most folks
look at us and they don’t see a gay couple. Most people think you’re my brother
and get shocked when I kiss you in public. Rest of the word sees me as,
semi-functioning or something. They notice my disability and see it as a flaw.
You’re not even high functioning at all and they call your disability a
god-damn gift.” Ian rambled.
“You don’t think I am ‘high
functioning’?” laughed Mattie.
“Generally, you can pass. But I
know you struggle daily to keep from falling into whatever resonances or
psychic entropy you find. You get sick and you tire easily. I take care of you
more than you take care of me Mattie. I mean. I don’t want to seem like I am
complaining. This is just my-“
“Observation, I know,” finished
Mattie, “I know you’re not trying to be hurtful. So many people see the
relationship as one sided. Some even think I am taking advantage of you, but
you’re right Ian. It’s the other way around. Sometimes you get lost in environment
yourself. Sound drowns you but you always manage to bring yourself out of it.
If I start to drown, I can’t seem to pull myself out.” Mattie drank his coffee
quiet now.
“The sounds of rain Mattie,
people hear the rain and are calmed by it. But when I hear it I am driven. I
want to rock, flap, dance, spin in circles. We all respond to the world
differently. I don’t think that means you’re a high functioning psychic or low
functioning one. It means you respond to the sound of rain differently. I can’t
tell you how to dance to it. But one day, you will find your rhythm to it.”
-End
No comments:
Post a Comment